Running is a Lot Like Life: A Lesson in Disregarding Worry

Last night was my daughter's first lesson with a new piano teacher. I reminded her gently throughout the day. Then fifteen minutes before he arrived I reminded her again and brought her into the bathroom to clean her fingernails and brush her hair. I could feel the resistance in her body. She sobbed that she was not ready. I spoke calmly to her, reassuring her that I would be near and that she had talent and knew enough for today. We were trying this new teacher and I wanted her opinion afterwards. I also told her it was my responsibility now to give her the tools to use her wonderful talent. Clinging to me, we met Joe. Genevieve sat on the bench with Joe beside her asking questions and listening to her play familiar songs, gauging what she knew. I stepped out of the room. Thirty minutes later Genevieve was happy.

This morning, Genevieve had a similar outbreak of anxiety over a school field trip. She did not want to go, despite having talked about it and prepared. She clung to me and complained loudly, near tears as we headed out the door. As post-piano, I expect she will be smiling at the end of the day, full of stories of Plumb Beach clean-up, as she climbs down the school bus stairs.

My husband and I listen to our children and do not make light of their concerns. But we continue forward. My belief is that if we allowed mild fear to dictate activities, they would never know the joys of struggling and overcoming. Of learning and mastery. Of unexpected experiences and amazing days.

Running is a lot like life.

I am six days out from my next marathon. Chicago 2014, my seventh. A couple of days ago I began to feel a strong apprehensiveness in the pit of my stomach. The worry is taking a very general form. I'm worried about all of the details of life, not specifically about running 26.2 miles. Although the thought of NOT racing on Sunday has certainly crossed my mind. 

This worry. A ploy. A distraction, much like the mid-race games my head likes to play, inviting me to a more comfortable place. My brain's manufactured worry right now draws me away from my clear-headed focus on next Sunday morning and the one strong and pure thought I need now:  To run an excellent race.

I believe that Genevieve is learning valuable lessons about overriding fear and engaging in life. And I believe that my mother and father and experience itself similarly prepared me well for these moments of apprehension. I haven't figured out how to eliminate the struggle. But, through running, I have learned to breath, disregard and redirect the voice in my head, to show up, and to finish strong.

T minus 6. Chicago here I come.